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reprising the teacher

There are moments, little victories, I suppose that I relish. I find myself in the middle of a café and I am smiling at nothing. Or I laugh at a scene in a movie and I feel like it’s real, like it’s not that laugh I keep rehearsing in the mirror at home. There are days when I hardly think of him.

But there are others that are unforgiving. They knock the wind out of me until I’m a big useless ball weeping on the bedroom floor. I press an ear against the floor, waiting to hear his footsteps returning. I imagine what they would sound like. Plop. Plop. Plop-plop. Or was it just Plop. Plop. Plop? The jingle of his keys, the turning of the doorknob, the shuffle his feet made on the welcome rug. I jump up, turn around to face the door but no one was there. I couldn’t find him. He didn’t want me to. So I guess I’ll just have to wait.

Or do I? I slowly undress, my nude body almost translucent in the livid moonlight. I picture his face, each line, each shadow. My pencil traces intricate dances on the paper. I sketch his hands and with each stroke, each line, I could feel his warmth brushing against my body. I sketch his eyes, the way they looked at me when he first beheld my nakedness. I blush. No one’s looked at me that way before, I whisper to no one in particular. I sketch his arms, his chest, his wobbly knees. I sketched him to life.

And he came into my room looking just like he did on the night that we met. A cold draft entered through the doorway. I shiver, hide myself behind feeble hands as though I hadn’t noticed I was naked. He comes towards me, his big hands reaching for mine, feeling, longing. He kisses me and it feels just like it used to.

Tell me a lie, he says. Just like before. Soft whispers in my ear trickle down like water.

I didn’t miss you. I answer, my eyes unfeeling, staring right into his.

Tell me another one.

You don’t turn me on. At least not anymore.

Another one.

I still think of you on most nights when I can’t sleep.

I told you to lie to me. He looked confused. That wasn’t a lie.

How would you know? You weren’t there.

---

Did you miss me? His breath feels warm and wet. He leads a hand down to my crotch, the pain of my arousal relentless against his will.

Now you tell me a lie. I command.

I don’t miss screwing you.

Another one.

I never loved you.

Another one.

I’ve stopped loving you.

Another one.

It’s been difficult to move on. Not when I see you like this.

I bit my tongue. I wasn’t sure if he was lying like he was supposed to. All I knew was either way, it would hurt.

I awake from my daydream yearning for a time so clear, it could have been a memory. Whatever happened to us? I used to see us, hands clasped, waking up to a million forevers. Why did we have to lie?

Reprising again / Year Seven. I haven’t reprised any bloggers in a while. In case you weren’t here last year, they’re like song covers for blogs but way looser. Click here to see the others. Ooh, and this blog just turned seven years old last Thursday. I know I haven’t been the most consistent blogger but it means a lot to me that you guys are still here despite my craziness. Thank you for the friendship and the encouragement-slash-ego boost. I promise to write more often real soon.

@Miley: Thanks for saying that. I originally intended for it to be super short nga kaso ewan ko ba, parang I don't trust the words enough. Feeling ko kulang sila. Glad to see somebody liked that version.

on the story, i do have same drafts like this but i chose not to publish. sometimes, it is better revisiting it silently on your own, revising and revising until one day, the voice decides to change. it is like a solitary pilgrimage to a place you fell and started to pick the pieces, first the agony and soon you will revisit to offer thanksgiving.

Catharsis has its price. We wake up, thinking it was all a dream, a rather lucid and exquisite one. But there's a pang in waking up, knowing that it was, after all, a dream and that eventually we'd have to take the blue pill. No alternatives.

Happy 7th anniversary to your blog. Longevity is a proof of many things, character for one. Because it tests it, as much as it allows its growth.